Travel tames the wild mares. If you let them go, they'll return to where the heart makes a home.
in the end
there are no swan lullabies.
no memories of uncomfortable stories,
to bring us comfort.
no bitter-sweet last minute offerings
of secrets, no final surprise.
no last chance at an unfamiliar hope.
not a smile for unsung bliss.
no church bells to harmonize
a timeline of glory, agony, defeat…
not an embrace to leave us
warm and loved. only a body removed.
a soul left somewhere for the living to rescue.
Good, and bad. Pleasure and pain. Life begins when we can understand that two sides of the same reality, create a unifying whole. Polarity does in fact…make the world go round.
We fear being lifted up by the murder of heartbreak, only to be destroyed by the crashing of love.
We're born with ideas.
Symbols aid in recollecting them,
reuniting that which is apparently separated.
For as long as the drought lasted she sat atop the lonesome hill surrounded by mishandled dusted fields, in the company of silence. she turned her aching spirit just enough to see a light along the horizon, embracing her with possibilities. pain erodes our shelter from unpleasant winds, and just as quickly - storms carry love that replace the damage done. and so then, in the company of song, she danced towards the storm, leaving ache alone atop the lonesome hill.
(mood study for character of forthcoming novel)
to forget, is to smile.
learning to fly requires
loss of your wings
to vacant memories
that in the end, fill the heart
with unpleasant laughter
too often confused with love.
always hoping to return
to a comfortable bliss.
Suffering creates crevices of the soul.
The process of creating art, surfaces emotion and then reason,
filling in those crevices - completing us.
i climbed passion’s peak.
i was able to see the horizon
waiting on the other side.
he lit the way to the version of me
hidden under a temporary heart.
the struggle to find a buried spirit
is the only road that prepares us
for a life like this. for skin
as thick as this.
a factitious bliss.
Mindful of thought and action.
Mindful of words spoken,
of words written.
Mindful of those whose lips
I choose to press my lips against.
Mindful of an open heart,
ready to love, prepared to hurt.
Forgetful of everything else.
Because nothing else matters.